


Dawn

by comingbacktoyou



Series: The Masks We Wear [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Captain America AU, Coming Out, First Love, M/M, Sad Ending, jackson as steve, jinyoung as bucky, mentions of the korean war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:20:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comingbacktoyou/pseuds/comingbacktoyou
Summary: Jackson just wants Jinyoung back in his arms safely, and he'll fight an entire war himself to get it.





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Good night?? Hello all, I hit a rock in FOTW and started something else in the mean time. Don't worry, I'm still keeping up with Flame and will continuing posting within the next couple of weeks.
> 
> But here is my new baby, an ongoing Avengers AU series I'll be posting, stories all connected together. There will be seven parts in total, the first three being backstories before I head into the main fic. It's not only going to consist of jinson, so I would LOVE if you guys would continue to read each part in this series, as the whole thing will tell a long, drawn out, awesome love story for these characters that I can't wait to finish exploring. !

_Los Angeles, 1950_

In a small, crowded studio apartment just shy of the upbeat inner workings of downtown LA, newspapers lay scattered along the mahogany table, an eclectic piece of furniture too worn down to sell but just good enough to use. In the far corner of the room sits a window cracked open, a fresh breeze pouring in that makes the beige curtains sway and fills the apartment with the bustle of the people from the slums below. A fridge with chipped paint from one too many nights of messing around stands in the kitchen with barely enough power to keep things fresh inside, and a brown radio is nestled on top that breathes life of the world around. In the center of the room is a twin-sized bed just big enough for two, little to no walking distance around the brown comforter and two measly pillows hiked up at the top.

It’s barely morning, orange sunbeams breaking through the faded glass pane of the window, bathing the tan skin of the two bodies lying next to each other in an air of warmth and freedom. The smaller of the two, Jackson Wang, tucks his face further into the glistening body of the bigger boy thrown across his front, the six month younger Park Jinyoung.

They lay like that for hours, holding onto each other while Jinyoung noses his face into the slim baby fat of Jackson’s cheeks, kissing the skin lightly where it glows under the sun’s rays. It’s in this moment that Jackson feels the happiest, held in the arms of the person he cares most about in the world, in their shared apartment where they can be whoever they want to be.

The feel of Jinyoung’s larger hands clenching onto the cleft of his bottom and the lips that trail down his neck help Jackson pretend for a second that his world isn’t coming to an end. As Jinyoung’s fingers dance delicately down Jackson’s cheeks and slip between them, Jackson tries to forget about the impending day, focusing instead on the way Jinyoung drags his warm tongue hotly across his neck to breathe into his ear, index finger ghosting over the sensitive skin of his hole.

He’s still loose from their shared time together the previous night, chests naked and rapidly rising and falling where Jinyoung seeks to take Jackson apart. He slips his finger easily into Jackson’s warmth with little resistance on the older’s side, playing gently with his most sensitive area as Jinyoung’s digit slides in and out lovingly, like Jackson will break if he prods too roughly. Jackson falls back on Jinyoung’s finger searching for the intense feeling of pleasure Jinyoung is used to giving him, breaking out in a gasp when the younger hikes his leg over Jackson’s side and grinds their bare crotches together sweetly.

The contact sends shockwaves through Jackson’s body and he muffles a moan into Jinyoung’s sweaty shoulder, torn between rutting forward and pushing back onto his finger. Another broken noise of gratification is pinched out of Jackson when Jinyoung slides a second finger in his heat and twists his wrist, catching on the sweet spot that always turns Jackson into a mess.

Jackson hides his face in Jinyoung’s neck as he drags his fingers in and out of him painstakingly slow, contact from both sides too stimulating for this early in the morning. Jinyoung pulls him back to take his lips into his own, mouth doing the rest of the job for him as he maps Jackson out with his tongue and sighs heavenly.

When Jackson’s full with three fingers and whining into his pillow case for more, Jinyoung gives him just that, lining up with Jackson’s entrance and pushing all the way in until their bodies become one. Jinyoung swallows Jackson’s noise of pleasure before he pulls out and enters again, over and over until Jackson lets his head fall back into the sheets. Jinyoung nestles his face in Jackson’s neck to mouth at the skin there, and as Jackson turns his head, his eyes catch sight of the brown military uniform thrown over a chair mocking him like a child.

“I love you, Seunnie.” Jinyoung pants into Jackson’s sweaty hair, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the world.

It’s a distraction, he knows. He knows Jinyoung knows. They know that underlying their want to chase each other’s mouths and bodies is the fear of what’s to come and the uncertainty of the future. T

The distraction works for the most part, so Jackson takes what Jinyoung gives him, pretending that this isn’t their last morning together for a while.

 

1935.

 

The pair met in their first year of elementary school, back when times were different and people like them were only allowed to go where the LA city government allowed for education. They, and other kids like them weren’t given the same opportunities as other Americans, but they found solace in each other as friends even though their backgrounds were different.

Jinyoung was a first generation Korean-American, born shortly after his mother had left Korea to find better opportunities in the US. The Great Depression had swept not only America but other Asian countries too, with Korea was plummeting into debt and unemployment. While the US was no different, it offered a chance to start over and to find work as an immigrant seeking refuge. His father had paid the last of his hard earned money to send him, his mother, and his two sisters on a crowded and musty ship that sailed directly to the Californian coast, leaving him behind with the rest of their family.

Jackson had come directly from China in 1934 during what was known as the _Fujian Rebellion_ , which forced his parents, then rebels against the Chinese Qing Dynasty, out of China in fears of an attack by the central government. They were smart to leave when they did, as months later the rebellion was squashed by the Qing, ending the lives of many for betraying the crown.

But in any case, the Wangs made it to America without a scratch and began to forget the lives they once lived in China. Jackson was brought up in America by his parents, a noticeably smaller and thinner kid than most of the children in his school. It was obvious to the other children as well, and because Jackson was fresh off the boat, it meant there was no way of communicating with the other children unless they too spoke Chinese.

His wide array of health problems caused incidents too - from asthma, to anemia, and mild scoliosis - which paired with his non-existent English skills and small body made him an easy target for kids looking to be mean.

_Jackson approached one of the older kids during playtime, still getting used to the idea of going to school everyday. This wasn’t how it was in China, and American kids made no sense to him. Jackson had grown up painting and loved colors, so it was natural for him to gravitate towards where he would be allowed to do it more._

_The bigger kid with brown hair stood when Jackson touched his shoulder, unsure of how to ask if they could paint together like he used to do back home. The kid stared at him and laughed when Jackson stood there silently asking with his hand._

_"What do you want?” The kid asked rather rudely, glowering down at Jackson._

_Jackson had been getting used to English but still had no clue what the other kid was saying, so he tried to speak his own language anyway in hopes that the kid would understand. Instead the boy just laughed in his face and pushed him to the floor of the classroom when the teacher wasn’t looking._

_“You can’t speak English? Are you stupid or something?” The boy asked despite Jackson not understanding. The only thing Jackson knew well enough was that he was thrown to the ground and his hands were hurt._

_He began crying, but the boy merely smiled and walked away. Jackson was left to himself as he shed his tears, desperately wanting to go home where people would be able to understand him._

_It wasn’t until another boy, younger than the other but still bigger than Jackson, approached him softly that Jackson looked up and stopped crying._

_“Are you okay?” The boy’s higher-pitched voice questioned, and although Jackson was unsure of what he was saying, he saw the worry buried deep in the dark irises of his chocolate eyes. “My name is Park Jinyoung, and I like birds,” said the other five year old, clothes too baggy for his body but smile still warm. “Do you speak English?”_

_Jackson had grown to learn very few English words, ‘English’ itself being one of them. He didn’t know what Jinyoung was asking, but mentioning the word Jackson shook his head timidly._

_“Oh,” Jinyoung sat back with wide eyes, which quickly turned into thin lines as he smiled. “That’s okay.” He took his pointer finger and stuck it into his chest, enunciating loudly for Jackson to hear. “Park Jinyoung.”_

_Jackson sat there amazed by the kindness of the warm stranger, this Park Jinyoung, giggling as he was able to understand he was referring to himself. Jackson mirrored the image of the younger boy, finger pointed at his own chest. “Wang Jia Er.”_

_To that Jinyoung smiled wider than before, eyes lighting up. “Wang Jia Er, do you want to be friends?”_

_Despite Jinyoung’s words leaving no impression on him yet Jackson shook his head eagerly since Jinyoung was being so nice to him. Before he knew it then, was a palette of paint in front of him and some more white paper, Park Jinyoung holding a brush as he dipped it into the darkness of the purple holder. Jackson smiled brighter than he ever had before._

Their friendship grew gradually from the little sapling they had created together, roots planted in the ground from their initial meeting that grew until it was a blooming flower that signaled the result of their kindling. They spent everyday together, during school hours in each other’s classes, and after school where they chased squirrels in the park and pretended to be the soldiers they’d heard so much about going into the war they were too young to comprehend.

During the beginning years of their friendship, with no english background whatsoever Jackson was left to communicate with his body while he developed his speaking skills. This wasn’t a problem for Jinyoung, who loved watching his friend’s funny antics as Jackson tried to talk to him with his over exaggerated movements.

Eventually the English language caught up with Jackson, and by then, he became louder and more confident. There wasn't anybody in the world who could get him to stop talking.

_“You remember the days before you spoke English?” Jinyoung brought up to him one time when they were ten, climbing the big oak tree in Jinyoung’s backyard. “You were really quiet and hardly ever spoke?”_

_Jackson gripped the edge of a branch, hauling himself towards the thicker one where Jinyoung was nestled. “Yeah, why?”_

_"It was peaceful then, before you started yapping my ears off.”_

_Jinyoung laughed obnoxiously and Jackson climbed to rest of the way up to meet his friend, playfully batting at him until they were both pink in the face from laughing so hard. Jackson’s mother came outside during the middle of their play fight and warned Jackson against any strenuous activity, fearing it would trigger any one of his ailments._

During his youth Jackson was treated like a broken doll by adults, but what he liked about Jinyoung was that he treated him like a kid. Jinyoung knew about Jackson’s illnesses, but didn’t use it to pity him. He was careful sure, but not enough to keep from roughhousing (despite both their parents’ pleas).

The pair remained glued to each other’s sides, eating out of their back pockets through school drama, girlfriends, new pets, and the political warfare of the world spinning around them. Jinyoung was there for Jackson when bullies from rich neighborhoods tried to gang up on him, colliding his fists with their guts any time they laid a finger on his best friend. He never came out unscathed, dried blood somewhere on his body, but it was all worth it to see the look on Jackson’s face and know he was safe.

Jackson was there for Jinyoung when he got his first girlfriend in ninth grade (and lost her a few weeks later), hopelessly head over heels but too young to know what to do with it. Jackson was happy for his best friend but felt confusion at other times when the couple held hands or kissed shyly under the swing sets, unsure of why he had gained a sudden distaste for the poor girl and anger emerged every time he saw her. She was beautiful, an image from a magazine, with long black hair and a petite frame. But for some reason Jackson never saw her the way Jinyoung did. Jinyoung had often talked about the feelings he got when he was around her, but Jackson could never imagine feeling the same way.

He didn’t know if it was something inside him or the girl herself, but he ignored the empty feelings it gave him knowing Jinyoung was possibly doing _things_ with her when no one was around. He felt anger, abandonment, and even _jealousy_ every time Jinyoung ditched him for her, unsure as to why he couldn’t just accept the fact that Jinyoung was young and in love.

Jackson was even more confused about what was going on inside his head when the girl had broken up with Jinyoung in favor for someone else, subtly calm and relieved that Jackson could have Jinyoung all to himself. He held Jinyoung while he cried on his shoulder after revealing the news of their split, elated that things would finally go back to normal.

But then it would happen again, as Jinyoung was like any other young horny teenager, with a new girl on his arm every couple of weeks. It pained Jackson to see himself taking the backseat in Jinyoung’s life, which was made even worse when Jinyoung offered to let one of his girls set Jackson up with her friend. Jackson politely declined, no interest whatsoever in dating yet. Jinyoung called him weird for that, causing Jackson to dive back into his shell.

There would be days Jackson would go without seeing Jinyoung, but their time spent apart was worth it whenever Jinyoung would come crawling back into his window at night, sliding into his bed to gossip and lounge around speaking nothings to each other under the moonlight.

Though Jackson was still in pain Jinyoung never sensed it, and it took a while for Jackson to actually admit to himself what was going on. He figured it was something weird with himself, and not Jinyoung or his girlfriends.

He was no stranger to the notion of not having feelings for girls. He’d read about it before, heard harsh whispers from people in school over people who were different from them. He also wasn’t blind to the fact that Jinyoung had changed so much over the years, growing into his features handsomely. From the dark length of his black hair to his glowing cheekbones and his stronger, more toned body, Jackson was a fool to say his best friend wasn’t something straight out of a movie.

The older they got the more Jackson began noticing the way Jinyoung got taller and his voice got deeper, leaving Jackson always one step behind during puberty. Jackson also noticed the way his heart rate would spike every time Jinyoung came close to him, and their once innocent touches became riddled with hot sensations that had Jackson feeling light-headed.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out why, but he found the acceptance over his feelings hard to deal with. He struggled quietly over whatever sexuality he had, and never brought it up to Jinyoung, no matter how many times he pushed for Jackson and some other girl to hang out.

It hurt that he had feelings for his best friend, a slow pinprick of agonizing torture that ate Jackson up inside. Because he knew, deep down, that his feelings started and ended with himself. Jinyoung liked girls - that was painfully obvious. But even in the off chance he didn’t, Jackson was still Jackson, the scrawny, pathetic loser kid who needed protection when he walked down the street.

Jinyoung would never feel anything like that towards him, so Jackson buried it deep, locking it up and tossing away the key.

And then came the even bigger crack in the shield Jackson had held before him. On July 7th, 1945, his parents were gunned down and murdered in the sweltering heat of the Los Angeles summer. What was supposed to be a normal trip to the bank to deposit a check ended up a million dollar theft and a triple homicide - Jackson’s parents and an unfortunate cop who had tried to protect them.

Losing everything he held dear hit Jackson like a speeding truck at an intersection. One minute his life was normal, and the next he had nothing left. He was alone, no other family except those they had left behind in China. It had seemed his only option for a while - to go back home to China - as friends and social workers had tried to find where to place him, but Jinyoung’s mother had swooped in swiftly to take him under the Park family wing. Jinyoung and Jackson were nearly brothers anyway, and the Parks considered the boy one of their own.

So at fifteen Jackson moved in with Jinyoung, the pair taking up Jinyoung’s medium-size bed and fitting whatever stuff he had left after getting rid of most. The memories of his parents still clung to him everywhere he went, but where the memories resided Jinyoung was close around the corner, a stable rock in Jackson’s life when things looked particularly grim.

 _“I don’t have anyone now, Jinyoungie,”_ _Jackson cried, weeping white hot tears onto Jinyoung’s shoulder._

 _Jinyoung just held him tighter, carding his hands through his hair and kissing his head._ _“You have me. I’m with you till the end of the line.”_

If it was even possible, they became closer now that they lived together, Jackson finally getting what he always wanted as Jinyoung devoted all his time to him. They stayed up late ignoring their homework talking about life past high school and where they wanted to go in the future, Jinyoung getting his license, and their first jobs - Jackson at a hot dog stand and Jinyoung as a dishwasher for a seaside shack at the pier.

Then, things quickly came together at once. It had started one day when Jackson was gardening in the backyard, tending to a dozen or so tulips Jinyoung had convinced him to plant to make the area look better. As he was, he hadn’t noticed the footsteps trailing into the yard or the twist of the hose nozzle. The next thing Jackson registered was his back drenched in water, Jinyoung being the culprit, green snake in hand. Laughing, Jackson charged at him, soaking his clothes even more, but not failing to turn the tide on Jinyoung and spray him as well.

Managing to water the grass along in their tirade, Jackson’s foot slipped, but his grip on Jinyoung’s shirt brought the younger down with him. They collided in the grass, Jinyoung landing on top of Jackson with a grunt, pinning the smaller beneath him. The hose was all but discarded, Jinyoung pushing himself to his elbows to look down at this friend, smiling wide with water droplets staining his eyelashes. Something in Jinyoung’s face changed then, his smile dropping into a tight line as he watched his best friend, eyes becoming heavier as he stared hard.

Jackson gulped, unblinking while Jinyoung hovered. He could see something there clouded in Jinyoung’s eyes, and for a moment he swore Jinyoung was leaning down. But then the front door opened and the moment was broken.

Jackson pretended like it was a part of his wandering imagination, the way Jinyoung regarded him like it was something more. He tried to forget, but soon Jinyoung started acting differently towards him, gravitating more in their little bubble, touching Jackson’s thigh or upper arm just because he could, staring when he thought Jackson wasn’t looking.

 _“Seunnie, when did you get so handsome?”_ Jinyoung had asked one night as Jackson changed out of his school uniform and into a pair of slacks and a t-shirt before heading down to dinner. It was so quick and out of the blue that Jackson didn’t know how to react, standing there with his heart caught in his throat. And if Jackson had fumbled with his buttons after that, well no one had to know.

Then came the shit storm, a normal day out of the blue. Close to graduation for both of them, Jinyoung was sat outside in the backyard with his then girlfriend Jisoo, a pretty girl with a thin waist that many boys lusted over. Jackson was upstairs in their room, eavesdropping from the window. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He listened on, as Jisoo and Jinyoung held hands, but even if they looked close Jackson knew from previous weeks that a rift had developed in their relationship, slowly spreading them apart for reasons he hadn’t come to discover yet.

_“We graduate next week Jinyoungie,” Jisoo said, lacing their fingers together and smiling up at him. “We should think about our future.”_

_Jackson gasped from the window softly, matching the choking noise that came from the back of Jinyoung’s throat. “Our.. f-future? We’re barely eighteen.”_

_“So? Plenty of couples have already gotten married at seventeen from school.”_

_Jinyoung gulped, dropping her hand to wipe his own down the front of his pants. “Jisoo, I think we should talk about some things.”_

_At his words Jackson froze, stepping from the window despite his nagging curiosity. It wasn’t his place to listen anymore. Their voices became muffled, but it sounded like an intense argument from where Jackson huddled into a ball in the corner of their room. Then came shouting in anger, and Jackson couldn’t take it anymore. He crawled to the window and peeked down into the grass below, then wished he hadn’t._

_In a split-second Jisoo’s palm collided with Jinyoung’s cheek, the harsh slap radiating and leaving a blemishing red handprint as she stormed away. Growing wary, Jackson felt his eyes moisten with tears watching Jinyoung’s face crumble. He ducked down when Jinyoung’s eyes traveled to their room, praying he was in time to not be caught._

_Moments later Jinyoung trudged silently into their room with heavy shoulders, lips pouting. Jackson laid on the bed clutching his knees, heartbroken for his friend._

_“Are you okay?” Jackson asked despite telling himself not to show his obvious eavesdropping._

_Jinyoung then looked more understanding than hurt, the side of his face quietly fading to a burning pink. He sat on the side of the bed, out of Jackson’s reach. He nodded, eyes not reaching Jackson’s as he asked his next question. “Jackson, have you ever thought of me as weird?”_

_The question made Jackson flinch back, because how could Jinyoung think such a thing? “What? Of course not, Jinyoung. You’re the most normal person I know. If anyone’s weird, it’s me. I have so many things wrong with me they might as well put me in a circus.”_

_It got Jinyoung to laugh, who gently cracked a smile. “I don’t mean like that.”_

_“Then what do you mean?”_

_“I mean…” He stopped, searching for his words, coming up empty. “I’m different, than everyone else. I used to be one way, but I realized I’m something else altogether.” Jinyoung gulped, finally looking up into Jackson’s uncertain eyes. “And I don’t want people to look at me different, because of it.”_

_On an exhale Jackson felt a pressure in his chest. Could Jinyoung be talking about, what he thinks he’s talking about? One of Jackson’s long buried, deepest, darkest secrets? There was only one way to find out._

_“I’m different too, you know,” he blurted out, throat constricting and ears burning red. Jinyoung’s eyes perked up, gazing into his. “So I won’t look at you any different.”_

_The younger stared, parting his lips. It wasn’t long after that Jinyoung was carefully scooting up the mattress to land at Jackson’s feet, bodies a foot apart. Jackson could barely hear anything over the pounding of his pulse in his ears._

_“Seunnie, I think I might-”_

_A knock on the door startled the two out of their bubble, Jinyoung’s mother standing in the entryway to their room with her apron on, blind as ever to the situation. “Boys, dinner’s ready.”_

_“Okay,” Jinyoung smiled back, drawing his attention away from Jackson until his mother left and he scrambled from the bed. Jackson followed with a twist in his gut, and the Park family plus Jackson gave a worded grace before plowing into their meals, Jackson unforgetting of the conversation moments before._

_Later, when they all retired to bed, Jackson snuck under the covers first, resting on his side away from Jinyoung, hoping nothing awkward would come from their conversation before. He didn’t want to lose his best friend, curling into himself and pretending to sleep._

_But Jinyoung saw right through it, sliding in next to him and poking Jackson in the shoulder. “Jackson.”_

_Jackson was helpless to the small plea, begrudgingly turning on his other side to find Jinyoung’s body just mere inches away from his own, their noses almost touching. He gulped. “Yes, Jinyoung?”_

_If for only a response Jinyoung reached out with his left arm, fingers brushing away the mop of brown bangs that fell onto Jackson’s forehead. His hand settled on Jackson’s face, thumb curling over his cheekbone._

_“Do you know why I broke up with Jisoo?”_

_Jackson shook his head from under Jinyoung’s palm, gasping softly when Jinyoung tangled their legs together under the thick duvet comforter. It sent a fuzzy sensation through the ends of his toes and into his thighs in every place they touched._

_“Because I liked someone else.”_

_The heart that Jackson had kept at bay began vibrating in his chest, almost loud enough to interrupt Jinyoung’s monologue. “Oh.”_

_“Would you like to know why she slapped me?” Nearly impossible, Jinyoung scooted closer, so close that Jackson could feel his hot breath on his upper lip. Jackson could only nod, throat constricting tightly._

_“I told her it was you.”_

_The air punched out of Jackson’s lungs as he tried to control his blinking eyes of shock, mouth parted but no words forming. He gaged Jinyoung’s reaction, to see if it was a lie to get Jisoo to back off or if he was somehow, in some alternate plane of existence, telling the truth. But Jinyoung’s eyes never betrayed him, piercing Jackson’s own with the same drawn out emotion._

_“M-me?”_

_Jinyoung nodded, his hand traveling down Jackson’s face to land at his neck, thumbing the underside of his pale jaw softly. “Seunnie,” he whispered, their noses brushing against each other in the midnight hour. “Can I kiss you?”_

_For a moment, Jackson laid there stock still, fearing that if he moved even an inch it would turn out to be a silly dream and collapse. But Jinyoung held his eyes, fingers a soft but pressuring force on him until he could decide that it was real._

_“Y-yeah,” he choked, eyes landing on where Jinyoung’s lips had plumped out, inviting him for a taste. As Jinyoung’s eyes closed Jackson kept his open just to double check his reality, relief flooding his veins when Jinyoung’s mouth finally covered his own._

_Jackson’s eyes fluttered closed in savory of the moment, brushing his lips eagerly to meet Jinyoung’s. He sighed at the contact, fisting his hands in Jinyoung’s cotton pajama shirt when he pressed harder and held Jackson in his arms._

__

 

_Los Angeles, 1952_

As the Korean War drug on so did Jackson’s worries about Jinyoung. Soldiers on both sides were dying left and right, and as the Americans aided the South with no victory in sight, it meant Jinyoung, now grown into a sergeant, was still thrown through a war that wasn’t his own.

What made it worse was the fact that the war was Korean, Jinyoung’s own home country. It had been his reasoning for joining the US army in the first place, as his mother packed up everything to go back to her hometown to be with his father and the rest of their family. Jinyoung had stayed behind as did his sisters, their lives in America forever more than whatever they originally had in Korea.

It wasn’t until the fighting had overtaken most of his mother’s hometown that Jinyoung decided to enlist and join the cause. But while enlisting meant he could find his family and potentially save his country, it also meant leaving behind Jackson, the most precious thing in the world to him.

_“You come back to me,” Jackson said to the man who had become his first love, then twenty years old and burning with youth._

_Jinyoung held Jackson close, pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips. “I’ll always come back to you.”_

But Jinyoung didn't keep his promise. He shipped out for Seoul two years ago and never came back, leaving Jackson to hang onto the letters he sent, each one written with care and wrapped in a purple lace ribbon. Jinyoung’s love flowed out in every word dotted in ink, and Jackson fell asleep with each one stacked under his pillow, waiting for the day his Jinyoung would come back.

But eventually, the letters stop coming. Whether it's because Jinyoung has moved regions and supplies are limited or because of… the other _thing,_ Jackson worries with his whole heart. He cries into his pillow after the first month of silence, and nearly faints when the war department shows up at his door, only to bring him the months worth of letters he’d sent Jinyoung, discovering Jinyoung’s battalion has moved and their location can’t be identified.

It ate away at him for months, days dragging on with no word from his lover and best friend. Jinyoung could be captured, tortured, or have died months ago and Jackson would never know, all because the war department couldn't disclose anything valuable to him. He knows it’s because of his size too; they look down on him because of his conditions.

The doctors tell him so every time he tries to sign up for the draft (dumb, he knows, since there’s no chance of him getting picked with the amount of complications he has; the asthma alone got him kicked out the first time), but he goes again and again each week with a new - and not so legally revised - file, if just for the chance to go find Jinyoung himself.

It’s a failed scheme and he knows it, because the chances of him being assigned anywhere close to Jinyoung is slim, and finding him on the war front is even slimmer. But Jackson’s lost everything else, his parents are dead and his family is gone; Jinyoung is the only person left, so he has nothing to lose.

“Sorry kid, come back in a few years after you hit the gym,” says the recruiting officer straight to his face, tossing his file back into his hands. Jackson has the unfortunate instance to drop it, the white documents spilling across the tiled floor in a heap of chaos. He hears laughter erupt behind him, flushing red when officers of broader stature walk around and gawk at him.

Bending over, Jackson shuffles the papers back into the folder, but a clicking noise across the floors draws his attention to a pair of suede grey loafers stopping at his knees. Matching grey slacks fall to his bare ankles, and as Jackson scans his eyes upwards, he can tell by the brand of clothing that this man has more money then he’ll ever dream of, with his cream colored polo tucked into his belt, paired with a black suit jacket.

Jackson fumbles under the scrutiny of the younger man (who appears to be even younger than he is) merely a teenager stuck in a war room. Jackson wonders if he’s there to enlist as well or waiting for a family member to come back.

The teenage boy holds his hand out for Jackson to take once he’s folded all his documents together, bringing him to his feet gently. Even though the kid is younger than him (possibly 17 at the oldest) he’s still bigger than Jackson will ever attempt to be, broad and ripe full of health.

Without asking the teen snatches Jackson’s file from his hands and skims through it, Jackson having half a mind to give him a good slap. But the boy just sighs, “So you’re him.”

Jackson has little time to question his words before the guy is turning on his heels with Jackson’s file and gesturing for him to follow. “This way please, Mr. Wang.” When Jackson doesn’t move, too full of confusion and concern to step forward, the kid pushes his glasses up to the roof of his nose and shrugs his shoulders. “Or you can stay here and forget about the war. Your choice.”

The boy turns his back to Jackson then, ducking behind a pair of swinging doors that leads into another hallway, one that’s restricted. Jackson waits a second, wondering if this is all just one big prank and any minute someone is going to jump out and scare him.

But nothing comes. There’s no streamers, or cameras, or children yelling in his face. Instead Jackson is left alone in the corridor, glancing towards the line of other men waiting to fight for their country. He breathes out steadily, and pushes past the doors.

Wandering aimlessly in search of the foreign teenager Jackson passes by room after room, pause in his step when a voice reaches out to him.

“Mr. Wang, this way please.” The boy stands before crystal white doors that lead in to what can be described as an operating room, though Jackson can’t see past the tinted glass windows. “Why exactly are you here, Mr. Wang?”

Gripping the ends of his shirt tightly, Jackson licks his chapped lips, giving in despite it still being unclear who the person is before him. “To enlist, Mr… uh-”

“Tuan,” the younger finishes, holding himself high. “Raymond Tuan.”

Jackson steps back in alarm, taking in the face of the richest kid on the east coast, and probably the entire country. The Tuan’s were the most intelligent family on the eastern hemisphere, and their son, Raymond, was the brightest of his age and more.

“And I know there’s more to it than that,” the billionaire, not even with a hint of a mustache on his face, continues. “You keep coming back here every month with an updated file, in hopes we’ll take you. Do you really want to die that badly?”

“No, sir,” Jackson responds, shaking his head. “I’d rather not die.”

“Then you want to kill as many North Koreans as possible.”

Again, Jackson closes his eyes and prays no one around is paying attention to him. “I don’t want to kill anyone, Mr. Tuan.”

“Then why are you lining up here every couple of weeks, I suppose?”

“My friend is out there,” Jackson plays cooly, telling the truth. “I haven’t heard anything from him in months. He might be dead already, but I need to know and no one is willing to give me any answers.”

Raymond stretches his shoulders out, fixing his eyes on Jackson’s with a look of curiosity that has him shrinking back. “You’d enter a war, risking your entire life for the sake of one man’s?”

There’s no trace of hesitation in his voice. “Yes.”

The boy before him pushes his silver rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, and smiles crookedly. “Then you are the one.”

“The one?”

“Yes,” he confirms, handing Jackson back his folder. “The hero America needs. The one who will care about the men, and not the war.”

Stepping back timidly as his mouth parts, Jackson’s brain is wrapped around the swirling words in his mind, catching on a single one. “A hero? Me? You’ve got the wrong person. I’m just Jackson, there’s nothing special about me.”

Raymond stops to peel his glasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his suit jacket. “What? Of course there is. These men out there want blood. But you? You care about the individual soldier, Mr. Wang. If there is hope to save anyone in this war, we need someone like you, willing to save our men.”

Jackson takes his words in, considering them closely. While Jinyoung is his primary and only factor for attempting to join the war effort, there is a part of him that doesn’t want to see any more people die. He hates war, wishes it gone. But if there’s a chance for him to save lives, then he would be a fool to pass it up, wouldn’t he?

“But I’m not even American,” he rambles, last edge of hope that the heir before him isn’t leading him on. “And you’ve seen my file. I’m not… I can’t fight.” Jackson knew this before he even enlisted, plagued with degenerative bone diseases, respiratory problems, and others that would require assistance in his later years of life.

But Raymond Tuan only smiles, reaching down to hold Jackson’s shoulders under his palms. “You don’t have to be American to believe in America, you know. My family’s from Taiwan, and look where we are now.”

“Mr. Wang, what I’m trying to say is, titles are arbitrary. It’s the heart that counts.” Raymond drops his hands from Jackson’s shoulders and turns on his heels, facing the white doors. He looks back, right hand poised at the handle. “If you want to find your friend, and be the hero America deserves, then follow me.”

Behind the crystal doors Raymond Tuan disappears, leaving Jackson to peek at only a sliver of the larger room inside. He waits before them, holding his bearings. He never wanted to be a hero. He just wanted a way to find Jinyoung, no matter the costs. But he has an opportunity before him, to be something more than he is. To be more than the scrawny sick kid children used to use for batting practice in the streets. Jackson could help end the war, and bring Jinyoung home alongside him. He doesn’t know what the choice entails, but his mind is already made up.

He sucks in a tight breath, pushing through the doors and towards his future.

_North Korea, 1953_

 

Through the translucent fog that creep through the pillowy snow terrain of the area, cherry blossom trees fade into view. They are pretty enough and decent looking, but all too extravagant for the image of everything before them. They are in a war, and while chaos raged around them, through the borders of South Korea and the ravaged towns in the North, Jackson pretends the flowers were a beacon of hope in the grim and desolate trek into the city.

The fighting had gotten worse in the days previous, Jackson’s self-made squadron of men he trusted with his life clinging to each other as they hid in the trees and darted across frozen lakes in effort to carry out their mission. This is the last base left where there were talks of prisoners, every other one on the Northern lines sieged in fiery battles from Jackson and his troops. They had rescued thousands of soldiers, Korean and American alike, earning Jackson the nickname ‘Captain America’ to those who had been saved by him.

He was now a household name throughout the world, a superior being that fought with intention and took down men with a single punch. Battalions were taken out by him alone in minutes, and despite the thousands of lives he’s already saved, there was still no sign of Jinyoung.

After Jackson had agreed naively to take on the challenge by Raymond Tuan, he was fitted with months of training, facing torture and ridicule from his fellow soldiers in the camps. But what they didn’t know was that behind closed doors, Jackson was being groomed to be the hero America needed, a new breed of super soldier to help end the war and bring their boys home.

The procedure was long, hard, and in the end nearly killed him, as he was set up in the basement of the training grounds where no one could take witness the act of god performed on him. With Raymond Tuan at the helm of the operation (having become a dear friend to Jackson throughout his time there), Jackson spent hours being pumped full of what they called the _Soldier’s Serum,_ packed full of growth hormones and other artificial drugs that would make Jackson unstoppable.

By the time he was finished and pulled out of the chamber he barely clung to life, the but serum had already established its drastic effects. He was taller, much more so than the people around him. Where he had once looked up at Raymond Tuan, now he could see the top of his head. Sunken cheeks and hollow eyes were now full in glowing complexion, but perhaps the greatest change of all was his build - pectoral muscles gouging from his thin white tee, calves thick and sturdy, and biceps three times the size they once were.

Raymond had squealed in joy, holding his sweaty body upright. _“How do you feel?”_

 _"Bigger.”_ Jackson had responded, smiling down at the difference.

From there it took a couple more months of new training to fit Jackson in his own red, white, and blue uniform to set himself out from the rest as the nation’s hero. People no longer stared at him for being too skinny or falling into an asthma fit, instead gawking at his incredible looming stature that outranked all others.

By the time he was sent out to South Korea in late 1952 the war had already taken a larger toll, as the South’s military numbers dwindled. A third had been killed in action, and another third had been taken prisoner by the North. Jackson checked every record and every letter, and none of them had mentioned his Jinyoung. It meant he was still alive, taken captive somewhere behind enemy lines.

But while the fate of Jinyoung had yet to be determined, the fate of South Korea, and in turn the rest of the world was even more at stake. The North Koreans had elected a new leader to bring the war to a swift end, the bloodthirsty and power hungry General Byun Mungsoo. Feared by many the older soldier had already burned down entire cities in his quest for ultimate power, and now, he had apparently developed some sort of new weaponry that was capable of disintegrating a human in seconds, and it was all powered by what insiders called the _Cosmic Cube._

According to lore the cube was a semi-celestial being, created millions of years ago by the gods, for a purpose no one knew. It had somehow fallen to earth and had landed in the hands of General Byun, and with it, he could destroy anyone who stood in the way of the North’s search for an almighty power.

So it became Jackson’s main objective. With his squadron, the self-titled _Howling Commandos_ , they set out to destroy every North Korean military base of operations in order to find the General and the cube. They rescued any allied soldiers held captive along the way, who either joined Jackson at his side or dared to escort themselves back to the South.

“Cap!” Comes from Jae, another American soldier like himself, too young and full of life to be stuck in the middle of a problem that isn’t even their own. Jae drops his dirty binoculars as Jackson crawls through the snow over to where they’re all hidden behind the trees. “The gates are heavily guarded, but I see on opening up top, if you can manage.”

Jackson smirks to himself, taking the lenses from Jae’s hands and settling them onto his eyes. The base, approximately fifty meters away from their hiding location, is by far the largest one they’ve come across. Paired with the dozens of Korean soldiers that stand armed around the entrances, Jackson knows this base is significant. If either the General or the cube is actually there, it would make sense that it was heavily fortified.

His eyes land on the opening Jae had spoken of, above the stone edges and inside an expansive tower that overlooks the rest of the fortress. It’ll be a piece of cake for him to get to, he’ll just need to destroy the machine guns nestled in the walls and a good distraction.

“I’ll take out their main gunners so you’ll have a chance to get in,” Jackson orders, having fallen into the leader role well over the past couple of months. “Release the prisoners while I find the General.” He hands over Jae’s binoculars, the rest of his Howling Commandos falling behind in his step. He surveys the area again, pointing to the soldiers. “We’ll need to draw their attention away.”

To his right, there’s a soft click that falls into place.

“Like this?” Officer Wonpil grins, undoing the clip of a small grenade. With only seconds to spare he tosses it in the general direction of the base but off into the surrounding forest. The Commandos brace for the bomb’s force with plugged ears and heads down in the snow, a wave of heat rushing around them as the weapon arms itself and erupts in a fiery charge past their views in the trees.

The Northern Soldiers startle at the eruption, wary of the dangers it could possess. A few on the west side of the fortress scury forward with their guns raised to investigate, giving Jackson the opening he’d been looking for.

“Just like that!” He shouts, jumping to his feet and sprinting towards the fort with his super-soldier given speed, ricocheting through the air like a bullet. The northern soldiers barely have a moment to react to Jackson before he’s vaulting towards the ones closest to his opening, knocking them out swiftly with the front of his shield before they can draw their guns.

The two to his right fall with ease, but shouting from the opposite side tells Jackson he’s already given himself away. He tucks his shield safely on his back and paces a few steps backwards before darting towards the wall at full speed, the sounds of other soldiers screaming in confusion drowning out in the background. He leaps then, feet propelling his body upwards until he can extend his hands to grab onto the ledge, yanking himself up and onto the top of the wall.

He gives his position away easily and quick, soldiers rounding him with their machine guns raised. Jackson easily deflects the rain of bullets crashing down around him, the shells clanking loudly against his vibranium shield. It had been the perfect defense choice, stronger than steel and a third of the weight, able to withstand close range bullets and detonations.

The impact from his shield sends multiple rounds back at the shooters, who fall to the ground helplessly. Jackson takes this as his opportunity to start moving to take out the gunners, never one for violence but using the necessary measures to save lives.

He rushes towards the first gun, the soldier manning it standing at the controls of the machine gun as it extends through an opening in the fortress. He sees it coming of course, but doesn’t have much time to react before Jackson is hot on his heels. Despite the hail of bullets that he successfully blocks, Jackson draws his arm back and with exact precision sends it flying towards the weapon.

His shield slices through the gun easily, breaking it’s black base straight through the middle and ricocheting out the other side. It goes flying into the second gun nestled to its left and destroys it in the same manner, and Jackson uses this moment of distraction to strike down the gunners. He punches one loudly in the face and kicks the feet out from under the second, all in time for his shield to bounce back to his arm. It’s a wonderful contraption for times like this, and he’ll forever be grateful that Raymond Tuan was generous enough to let him use it.

With the main guns out of commission, Jackson radios down to his commandos, giving them the go ahead to begin their raid on the base. Jackson can’t hear much besides the metal clanking repeatedly against his shield, but the effect is instantaneous. Shouts erupt from behind the walls as more rounds are fired on all sides of him, but he deflects everything smoothly and makes his way to the opening Jae had shown him earlier. With the Commandos now moving in as backup, it means he can worry about finding the General while they rescue anyone from their side.

Using the wall of the fort as leverage, Jackson runs to it at full speed and jumps high enough to get his feet onto the side. He kicks off the wall, propelling himself up and towards the tower he set his sights on. His hands catch onto the ledge of an open window, fingers curling around the rock despite the freezing temperatures that numb them to the bone. The strength in his hand allows for him to pull his weight up into his elbows, and his legs hook over the side and into the room just in time to meet the onslaught of soldiers who have caught sight of him.

As they rush towards him Jackson strikes them with his shield, sending some flying off the side of the tower. His foot comes out to kick one square in the jaw, and another gets a fist landing straight to his gut. They topple in seconds, Jackson leaving no room for them to stand their ground again and come after him. He carefully brushes past them and any other soldiers holding down the fort, having to exert more force than he wishes when some are unfortunate enough to see him.

Jackson takes care of anyone that gets in his way while he tries his best to navigate through the base. It doesn’t help that the place is larger than all the others he’s entered and he has no idea where he is now. Through all the commotion most of the northern soldiers had flocked to the walls of the fort, leaving many of the rooms empty and hallways deserted.

Jackson doesn’t even want to know where to begin searching for the General or the cube, stranded somewhere on an upper level of the base in a hallway that looks as if someone had hastily tried to pack up and leave. If that was the case - illustrated clearly by the papers thrown around and chairs lying carelessly along the floor - then there was a slim chance the cube would be left unguarded, or here at all.

Still, Jackson doesn’t forfeit the mission based on a hunch, and continues to trek down the hallways in pursuit.

“Cap, we found the prisoners.” Jae comes through the radio, out of breath. “We’re getting them now.”

Jackson brings the radio to his lips, throat dry. “Is there a Park Jinyoung somewhere in there?”

The line drops into silence, the most agonizing three seconds of Jackson’s life. If Jinyoung isn’t there, Jackson will have to accept what he’s been forcing to stay in the back of his mind for the past year.

When Jae’s voice flows back through the device, it sends a sharp knife through Jackson’s heart. “Sorry Cap, no Park Jinyoung here.” Jackson shuts his eyes tight, grounding himself to prevent the radio from being crushed in his vice grip. “But we’ve got the rest of our guys, heading out now.”

“Okay,” Jackson seethes, forcing himself to open his eyes. He will not cry, not now. Not when he has another mission at hand. If this the place where his and Jinyoung’s story ends, he will find time to grieve later. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Got it, Cap.”

The radio clicks off, and instead of plucking it back into his red belt, Jackson lets it slide from his fingers and onto the floor. He’s too upset to care, but continues his steps as if his whole world isn’t falling down around him.

He peaks into each room in hopes of finding something worth it to the south or pointing towards if the General is even there, coming up empty and unsatisfied. It’s not until he looks through a dusty window that leads into an eerie room that he stops, daring to enter. He can see through the glass into the room that remains dark with no illumination, guarded when his eyes land on what looks to be a patient table on the far side of the room.

The view is obscured by the availability of the window, but Jackson thinks he sees the resemblance of someone’s foot - whether dead or alive. He abandons his mission for the time being, hopeful that whoever’s in the room is on his side, and is still alive.

He slides the handle down and pushes through the door, eyes adjusting to the harsh contrast in lighting. As they adjust, Jackson steps closer to the body, noticing the person’s long legs and familiar body shape. It’s when his eyes scan across the man’s face to land on his plush lips and definable ears that Jackson is caught in place, gasping in the stillness of the room.

“Jinyoung…” He whispers to himself, shocked to the core of his soul to see his lover laying before him, after years of separation, months of silence, and minutes of giving up hope. “Jinyoung!” Jackson screams this time with watery eyes, hands pawing at Jinyoung’s chest in hopes he’s just unconscious and they weren’t too late.

It’s a familiar sight when Jinyoung’s whiskey filled eyes groggily snap open in surprise, just like the times spent in their apartment, when Jackson would hover over Jinyoung’s sleeping form to admire his beauty in the mornings. But Jinyoung’s hands reach for his own wildly, like he’s attempting to fight back - as if Jackson were there to torture him. It makes him wonder what kinds of things Jinyoung has been through in his time here if this is his first reaction to being touched, and it makes him sick to think about.

But then Jinyoung stops struggling under his hands as Jackson backs off to give him some breathing room, and he can see the exact moment Jinyoung realizes who it is.

“J-Jackson?” He stutters weakly, eyes glazed over and wandering. Jackson is back at his side immediately to take their hands together. “What… What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering right away, Jackson does what he _shouldn’t_ in their time sensitive situation, leaning across the table to fit his lips over Jinyoung’s own. Jinyoung, barely awake to register the action, just lets Jackson kiss him without reciprocating it right away. But after a small insistence Jinyoung joins in weakly, making Jackson’s heart hammer in place.

“I joined the army,” Jackson responds as their kiss breaks, pulling him up and draping Jinyoung’s arm over his shoulder, holding onto his waist tightly. He realizes now post-serum that while he doesn’t tower over Jinyoung, he’s certainly just an inch or two taller.

Jinyoung takes notice of this as well, eyes raking over Jackson’s new body and up into his eyes. “When did you get this big?”

Jackson drags them along, Jinyoung’s legs beginning to operate better the more he moves. “What, you don’t like it?”

“I never said that.”

Jackson smirks, supporting Jinyoung as they make their way through the base. The younger slowly comes to his senses the more they run around until he’s following urgently behind Jackson, whatever state he was in washed away completely. With Jinyoung back in the picture it makes Jackson’s mission even harder, but he still has to find the cube if it’s still there. He can’t risk Jinyoung facing anymore injury, meaning he’ll need to get him out of the base as soon as possible and then attempt to go about getting the cube.

“What are you wearing?” Jinyoung asks as they round a corner and stumble upon an empty laboratory, his eyes taking in every inch of Jackson’s patriotic get up. His own white shirt clings to his skin, slick with sweat, but Jackson doesn’t say anything about it, too focused on getting Jinyoung out of there once and for all.

“It’s a part of the act,” he responds in captain-like fashion, scanning the lab. Just like the other locations, there are various contraptions that line the silver tables. Unlike the other locations, in the back of the room hooked up to numerous wires and mechanical arms are black nylon tables that erriely stand out like a sore thumb. The look of them are nothing but haunting, and as Jackson moves closer, he can see the straps hanging across the material, two on top and two at the bottom, in the exact place one’s hands and feet would be. His fears of what it could be are confirmed when he sees specks of dried blood contrasting with the black, his mind filling with images of prisoners strapped down like animals and poked and prodded with who knows what.

Jackson knows he has to keep them going, the boys can’t hold off he rest of the northern troops forever and it’s possible there are still more in the fort, but he pauses a moment to take everything in with his eyes, sick to his stomach that this is just one of the many probable places their soldiers were tortured and beaten. The only thing that steals him away from the disgust is the fact that they’ve saved so many men and women with his help. _You can’t save them all_ , he thinks.

He hasn’t even realized Jinyoung has grown oddly quiet and unmoving behind him until he turns around and freezes in place. While Jackson had taken a moment to investigate the room Jinyoung had backed himself against the farthest wall silently, eyes glossing over. Jinyoung isn’t even looking at him as Jackson approaches cautiously, his sunken eyes burning with a hot wetness that wasn’t there before that glare straight ahead at the chairs.

It doesn’t take much for Jackson to piece together what it means as he tries to bring his lover back to him. His hands are shaking as Jackson holds one beneath his own, and he can’t even begin to imagine what Jinyoung’s been through in his time here. He doesn’t even know how long Jinyoung’s been here, he realizes with a frown, which makes it even worse. But his comforting hand brings Jinyoung back to him for the time being, his mouth opening to say something but closing just as a muffed explosion vibrates through the walls.

The pair startle, another explosion, this time louder and closer, shaking the ground beneath them. Jackson doesn’t have time to calculate their next move as he tugs his shield off of his back and holds it before the both of them, crouching in front of Jinyoung who he’s backed further into the wall. His reflexes are just in time too, as another blast sends fire and debris straight towards them.

Quickly, Jackson holds his shield with one hand while dragging Jinyoung along with his other, feet snapping out of the laboratory to escape the burning flames and debris that would surely impale them.

“They must have set off some sort of detonators!” He yells over the rumblings from the fort collapsing around them, doing his best to protect his eyes from dust so he can find a way out of there for the both of them.

Up ahead is what looks to be an elevator shaft, it’s metal doors rusted from use. Jackson figures they’ll take their chances even though it most likely wouldn’t be running, and everything they’ve been taught in life expressly stated to use the stairs in case of a fire.

In a haze of smoke the pair bound towards the elevator doors, but a sudden body in a long black coat emerging from the side has them sliding to a halt. Definitely North Korean, and evidently of some high leadership ranking in the army by the gold badges and crests on his uniform, the middle-aged man stands before them with a sneer, blocking the elevator menacingly.

From the way he holds himself and the deep scars that line the tissue of his face, Jackson knows who it is immediately.

“Well, well, well,” General Byun taunts, having no problem stalling for time as the military base collapses around them. “I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to meet you, _Captain_. Glad you and your friends could pop in for this... most unexpected visit.”

Behind him, Jackson shields Jinyoung from the raging man, prepared to give into the fight he knows is coming.  He's been waiting months for this moment. “Your time is up, General. Hand over the cube and _maybe_ the army will spare your life.”

At his words the General cackles like a mad man, loud and barbaric around the rumbling walls and the floors that start to crack beneath them. Jackson steadies his hand around Jinyoung’s shirt while the other grips his shield with all his might, strategically trying to figure out how he’ll manage to to take out the General and navigate them to safety before the entire base goes.

“They won’t need to spare my life, Captain Wang,” the General taunts, hand reaching towards the base of his chin, finger curling into the tight flesh. In the next sickening second, pale white skin is ripped from the General’s face like something straight out of a horror movie, exposing the red coloration of the man’s skull.

General Byun drops the torn flesh of his face to the ground like it’s merely a mask for show. “I’m already dead!”

The man’s red skull is horrifying to look at, Jackson flinching back from the sight before he remembers that this is no time for squealing like a child. They’ve still got to find a way out of there fast.

Then out of the corner of his eye, Jackson sees something being plucked from the General’s pocket,  small black rectangular device. The General’s finger hovers over it, smiling deliriously. “Have fun!”

His thumb smashes over a button on the device and it lights up, igniting another explosion from above. It sends Jackson staggering to the ground with Jinyoung on top of him, both ducking their heads from the flying shrapnel and debris.

Jackson pulls them back up on wobbly feet and makes for his shield, only to find General Byun gone, vanished like a ghost into thin air.

With no time to spare looking for him lest he wishes to die a fiery death, Jackson rushes to the elevator and pries the doors open with the help of his shield, narrowly avoiding the fire that breathes through the opening when the doors are parted and Jinyoung pulls him back by the collar of his suit. As the flames die down Jackson notes that they seem to be coming from the floors above, which marks off their easiest, and _safest_ escape route.

The only option now for them is to scale down into the elevator shaft and find another floor that will hopefully have an exit. Jackson lets Jinyoung go first as he follows right behind, the two shimming down the cable wires until their feet reach the bottom of the shaft. Testing the doors Jackson feels no warmth on them, declaring that this floor hasn’t been hit yet. Once again he pries the doors open and the duo walk out numbly into a full-scale underground aviation hangar, by the looks of it.

Hardly any ships are inside, most having probably been taken during their invasion. Another, even bigger explosion rocks the entire base, a huge chunk of concrete falling from the ceiling beside them. Jackson shoves Jinyoung out of the way and in the direction of one of the smaller silver ships, knowing there’s no way they can run their way out of this unless they want to be crushed to death by a collapsing ceiling.

Its triangular body is bigger than a two seater but smaller than an airliner, and Jackson lays waste to the door locks of their new mode of transportation, the lock falling easily to allow them to slip inside. He nearly gasps at the interior design of the ship - far too advanced for someone like him - but holds his breath as he rushes to the controls. There’s room enough for Jinyoung to stand comfortably behind him as Jackson slides into the pilot’s chair and sets his shield down beside his legs.

“Do you even know how to fly one of these things?” Jinyoung panics as he glances around at the new technology, unsure as well of what each and every little thing does.

Now, Jackson had grown to be a damned good pilot in the army, but this interface is all new to him. The only thing that stands out to him is what looks to be a gas pedal and the brakes by his feet. “Not at all,” he says grimly, but his eyes brighten when they land on a silver key poking out from where it’s dug into the ignition.

The explosions must finally reach them when the ship rumbles in place, Jackson holding his breath as he twists the key with his wrist. To their fortune the engine startles to life with a roar, the console illuminating its buttons as the propellers begin turning.

Jackson breathes a sigh of relief as the ship moves forward when his foot hits the accelerator, and despite the ceiling falling to pieces around them Jackson successfully navigates them across the landings and out of the hangar, into the fresh sunlight of the newfound day.

The plane jettisons out of the opening in just enough time for them to escape the final explosion, one large enough that it sends the entire base into the air in shambles of debris and smoke. They were out of immediate danger, and now all they needed was to meet up with the rest of the Howling Commandos so they could make their way back to the south and hopefully put an end to the war.

Jinyoung rests his head on the back of Jackson’s seat with his eyes closed, breathing out evenly with a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. His hands snake their way to Jackson’s arms where they’re poised at the controls, flying them steadily. Fingers dig deep into the fabric of Jackson’s suit, tracing the patterns and circling the tense muscles of his biceps.

“This is weird,” Jinyoung remarks while bringing his face closer to Jackson’s around the seat, staring at the curve of his lashes. Jackson’s face falls, biting back his disappointment. But then Jinyoung is planting a sweet kiss on his cheek, pulling back just far enough to whisper in Jackson’s ear, “But I can get used to it.”

Turning his head to face Jinyoung, the pair catch each other’s loving gazes, years of being separated finally drawing to its end. This is one chapter of his life Jackson will be happy to finish, and as he grins at the boy before him (man now really, having faced the darkness of war), he knows Jinyoung is thinking the same thing.

There’s a glinting across Jackson’s neck that Jinyoung catches then, brows pinched together as his hand comes up to tug the metal chain out from where it’s buried under the collar of his suit. He makes a pleased sound when the rest of the metal is pulled free to reveal a pair of freshly punched dog tags with Jackson’s name and position on it.

Fingers tracing over the metal softly, Jinyoung swallows thickly, mouth formed into a grimace. “I never wanted you to go to war.”

Jackson feels his sentiment, wishing neither of them had to. They should have been allowed to be young adults together like they planned, no war and no combat boots to seal their fate. As Jinyoung’s fingers curl around the tags, Jackson realizes the chain must have been damaged in the fighting as it breaks from around his neck in Jinyoung’s hands.

Jinyoung squeaks in surprise, but Jackson just closes his fist around the material. “Hold onto it for me, yeah?”

Nodding, Jinyoung slips the chain into his back pocket. His eyes flick down to Jackson’s lips then, burning with a warm desire not even the ocean could strike out. And as Jackson reaches across the console to flick the autopilot button on, he closes his eyes and pushes forward, waiting for the moment they can finally be them again, together in their little apartment in LA away from gun barrels and the stench of death.

But they never get that chance.

Two fighter ships trail behind them, gaining traction with every second they’re in the air. A tirade of bullets are launched at them from the gunners, followed by a round of short-range missiles, knocking Jinyoung flat on his ass. One misses them completely but the second rips through the back end of the ship, knocking the tail into the icy waters below. Jackson scrambles to turn the ship’s control back to him, but the damage has already been done.

There isn’t much Jackson can do with them still firing but try to dodge each and every shot, eyes fumbling to find somewhere they can land. But they’re surrounded completely by the Southern Sea, so putting them down would end in and frozen death, and the same would stand if they managed to find parachutes and jump. If he can hold it out long enough they might be able to get to Japan, but even then, who knows what the nation might do to them once they’re there.

They take another hit as Jinyoung climbs to his feet and clings to the back of Jackson’s seat, effectively destroying all the craft’s autopilot capabilities. He’s stuck now, hands at the helm trying to navigate them to safety.

Buttons go off in a fury of colors that neither of them can decipher, but Jackson knows if they’re going to survive this they’ll need something to fight back with. He doesn’t know how advanced the weapons system of the ship are, but he’s in no mood to wait as the toggles through the various buttons and levers on the console.

“There’s gotta be something here we can use to fire back at them,” Jackson says mostly to himself, fingers dancing across the controls.

Then Jinyoung points to a glowing blue button above their heads. “What about that one?”

The button is big, meaning it must be prominent, so Jackson shrugs, it couldn’t hurt. He slams his palm into it and waits in agony.

Nothing happens. Jackson grunts in frustration and keeps peddling them along, missing when the sound of something unlatching comes from behind them. Jinyoung hears it however, spinning to chase the noise.

Far off in the back of the ship two floor panels slide apart from each other, and something attune to a metal podium rises from beneath it. The top of the podium is shaped like a sphere, and within seconds the left side is sliding to the right like a slinky toy, revealing the bright neon purple glow of the object inside.

“Jackson, what is this?”

The captain turns just enough in his seat that he can man the controls and gage whatever Jinyoung is referring to. He gasps aloud, the object from the single worn photograph he’d been shown a million times now sitting directly behind him, laid out and bare.

“It’s the cube!” Jackson yells, unable to move from where he controls their fate. “The Cosmic Cube! Jinyoung, whatever you do don’t touch-”

Another direct hit to the side of the ship cuts Jackson off and sends the cube flying. It lands directly in Jinyoung’s hands, his reflexes too fast for him to think about the consequences. He holds the glowing cube in his palms, shaking and out of breath as he gazes into the small bursts of energy emitting from all sides of it. The blasts from the attack must be aggravating its internal structure, glowing brighter than before with its purple cloud of whisps surrounding it.

“Jinyoungie,” Jackson eases his voice, trying to remain as calm as possible. No one knows what the cube is capable of, and Jackson isn’t willing to use his boyfriend to find out. “Put the cube down slowly, okay?”

Jackson is expecting Jinyoung to listen to him and set the cube down nicely, but when Jinyoung looks back at him, his eyes glow the same ghastly purple color as the cube. Jackson gulps, noicing the way the cube’s energy field licks up his arms as well.

“Why?” Jinyoung asks, eyes clouded by the cube, so much so that Jackson doesn’t know who’s speaking to him - Jinyoung or the cube itself.

But then as if he’s been burned, Jinyoung drops the cube with a hiss, and the energy slowly fades from his body and slithers back to the glowing object on the floor.

Jackson wants to breathe in relief but they’ve still got two ships on them, then suddenly another missile rings out and Jackson isn’t fast enough to dodge it. The warhead explodes on the right side of the ship, taking a good chunk of the body and most of the right wing with it. A gaping hole sits in the middle of the right side, and now that one wing is gone, the ship loses its balance and tilts to its side. Everything and everyone inside the ship begins rolling to the right, and Jinyoung is barely able to catch himself on the edge of the torn wall with a painful grunt.

Trying to steady the plane while fearing for Jinyoung’s life, Jackson turns, calling out to him. “Jinyoung! Don’t move! Just hang on, okay?!”

Jinyoung grabs at the side of the plane in panic as the wind whips at this face brutally, and holds on to anything he can find for dear life.

But then, almost forgotten, the Cosmic Cube, now bursting with even bigger shards of energy sharp enough to cut, rolls down the floor directly in Jinyoung’s position. As it rolls the energy cloud grows in size until it’s nearly white with the amount of light radiating off of it.

“Jackson!” Jinyoung screams, but he’s drowned out by the sound of the wind behind them.

Jackson looks back one last time to catch Jinyoung’s frantic eyes, and the last thing he sees is the plush bottom lip of Jinyoung’s mouth part on the beginning of his name.

Before it can get to Jinyoung the cube ignites, sending a wave blast unparalleled to anything he’s ever seen before through the ship. Flames of agitated purple energy bursts snake their way up the sides of the plane as the explosion hits full force, it’s bright white center jolting the entire ship. The force of it all pushes Jinyoung’s screaming body just the distance he needs before he’s slipping from the plane and out into the arctic waters.

The explosion knocks Jackson headfirst into the console, his hand sliding across the controls which dips the plane into a nosedive. His body collapses on the ground and his eyes close as he falls unconscious, blissfully unaware of the fate that meets him below.


End file.
